


To Feel You Again

by Minxie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, QAF (US), S2 What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.</i> ~Carl W. Buechner</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Feel You Again

**Author's Note:**

> Early S2 What-If, Original Characters (secondary background). Much thanks to fun_demented and vl_redreign for the beta work.

"There's no reason for you to keep coming."

I look up from my usual spot, the chair just outside Justin's room, and blink. Jennifer Taylor. And my, doesn't she looked pissed. Great.

This is the first time since _that_ night I've seen anyone outside of the hospital staff. Having what has become my time interrupted is disconcerting. Not to mention, that second bump is beginning to seem like a tremendously bad idea. If I ever needed a clear head, now would be it. "Mrs. Taylor."

"There is no reason for to keep coming here." Mother Taylor steps closer and it takes all I have not to jerk back. The woman, petite or not, can be fucking scary. The stories about her clashes with doctors and police are the stuff of legends. "You've done more than enough, don't you think?"

"Justin…"

"Woke up today." She snaps her mouth shut, waits until the nurse moves beyond our little piece of hallway and into another room. Meaning, whatever she says next is going to suck. "And he doesn't remember a thing."

I ignore the feeling curling in my chest — _Christ_, Justin woke up — and push to a stand. She obviously wants a fight. And that's something I won't do sitting down. "The doctors said he'd most likely lose some time."

"Months. He lost months." She steps back as I move forward, walking not to her but around her to be closer to Justin's room. "The only person who remembers anything you may have done to my son, is you."

"Months?" I can feel the color draining from my face. Fuck. _Months._ "But…"

She almost looks pleased. "So as you can see, there is no reason for you to be here. He won't know you, doesn't need to know you."

"I care about him." I close my eyes because, dammit, admitting that costs a fuck of a lot.

"Enough to make him a target at his own prom, enough to take his virginity, enough to introduce him to drinking and drugging and _tricking_. It's very obvious how much you care." She looks away, looks through the glass and into Justin's room. "Get out and never contact my son again."

I bite back the first retort, knowing I need to watch my mouth, not let the flash of anger take over. But I can't just walk away, not without comment of any kind. "And when his memory comes back?"

The rapid flush to her cheeks tells me my question hit some kind of mark. She's planning something. Something to guarantee the outcome she wants. Not necessarily what may be best for Justin.

"That's not for you to worry about." Mrs. Taylor turns back towards me, a hard glint in her eyes. "Leave."

I cant my head and, looking anywhere but at Jennifer Taylor, drawl, "I hope you know what you're doing. Because when he asks me why I wasn't here," and I know Justin will ask, have to believe that in time Justin will know exactly who I was… am. "When he comes to me with questions, I'm sending him to you."

And then I walk away, my fingers tracing over the bloody scarf hidden beneath my shirt as I bury the rage and guilt beneath a promise to watch Jennifer Taylor, to keep a close eye on her for Justin's sake.

At the corner I turn and stare down the corridor. Her smug look says it all. She thinks she's won.

Shows how little she actually knows about me.

* * *

  
"They're moving." I toss a file onto the counter top, right in front of Mikey. "She's fucking moving to some goddamn Podunk in the middle of fucking Virginia."

"Huh? Who's moving?"

I remember now that I didn't include Michael, or anyone else for that matter, on my spying detail. Just the PI I'm paying a fuck ton of money to. "Justin."

Michael raises a brow. "Thought you hadn't seen him since he woke up? I mean, I know I missed a lot of gossip while I was in Portland-" and I am so not touching that one again "-but this? I would have heard about."

I've seen him. From a distance and closer through the fucking pictures the PI brings in. He's still Justin, but different. You can see it in the way he carries himself.

And I've kept up with his progress. Some of the news has been good. He's getting motor control back, painting again even if he isn't drawing as much yet. And, if the PI is to be believed, Justin is slowly recovering some memories.

They all center around the dick that his father is, paying attention to Justin's sister but still, even with the bashing, ignoring the fuck-all out of Justin. At least that is the general feeling based on some of the arguments the PI has overheard between mother and son, and the few comments he's managed to get from Justin's friends.

Still no mention of me.

That, quite frankly, is just shitty.

Especially considering that I can't forget the little twat.

"Been keeping up with his progress, you know."

Michael gives me the look. For once he isn't too far off the mark. "Ma told me that Justin's mom basically banished all of us from his life. How'd you escape the purge?"

I snort then. Banish and purge? Living with the good doctor definitely raised Mikey's vocabulary level. "I didn't."

"Then how do you know they're moving?"

I look away. Not because I'm embarrassed. Not really. But admitting to hiring a PI is going to raise a lot of questions that I'm not ready to answer, privately or publically. "I've got my ways."

"You're paying someone. Daphne?"

The chuckle escapes before I can stop it. Definitely not Daph. No matter how much she might want to talk to me, Saint Taylor laid the law down there, too. Justin or me. Daphne picked Justin. "No, not Daphne."

"But you are paying someone."

Cocky fucker, so sure he knows the answer he makes it a statement instead of a question. "Yeah."

Michael presses his lips together and nods. "Because he got bashed or because he got under your skin?"

Fuck. There are times I hate my best friend. Now would be one of them.

"Don't know." I ignore the smirk he's giving me. "Just something I need to do."

"Okay." Mikey shrugs and pushes away from the counter. "Don't know why it's a big deal if they're moving though. Just find someone there to spy on them."

I light a cigarette. It's really the safest option. It takes almost half of the cigarette before I can talk without snapping Michael's head off. "What about his acceptance at PIFA? Commuting from Virginia will be a bitch."

"Huh. I forgot about that."

I roll my eyes. How in the hell could anyone forget about that? Justin was bouncing off the walls for days. Well, he was as soon as we put that whole Dartmouth thing to rest. "No way he'd move after getting into that damn art school."

Michael walks over to the door. "Unless he doesn't remember."

"Goddammit!" I snap open my phone and hit seven on the speed dial.

Another assignment — and another fucking grand — going to the PI. Fucking Jacobs is going to be rich before Justin gets his memory back.

* * *

  
The file is deceptively thin. His application, comments from the reviewers, a copy of his acceptance letter, two lines of notation that Justin has not responded to two follow-up letters following his initial acceptance to PIFA. And a letter from Jennifer Taylor dated less than two weeks ago.

"Fuck!"

> Due to financial reasons, Justin Taylor will not be able to attend the Pittsburgh…

  
"Financial… financial…" I repeat the word, like it's a fucking mantra, and tap my pencil on the desk. Finally I push the report to the side and look across my desk, meeting Andy Jacob's amused gaze. "I can handle the financial aspects. Can he draw?"

Jacobs tilts his head and winces. "Kind of. He's improving slowly. Very slowly. His hand cramps after a few minutes but," Andy shakes head and smirks, "he's a tenacious little shit. Doesn't know the meaning of the words give up."

"No kidding." Justin never knew the meaning of _go the fuck away_ either. Look where that got me.

I push the thought away and turn back to the issue at hand. "Is there a way to arrange a private but anonymous scholarship for Justin?"

"Dunno. But that's easy enough to find out." Jacobs flips through the report and points to the line about Justin failing to respond to previous letter. "Your bigger issue would be making sure that Justin actually receives the notice."

"His mother is keeping them from him?"

"Yup. All mail goes to a box at the post office." Jacobs closed the file with a heavy thump. "She keeps that kid in a bubble."

Shit, fuck, and damn. I know exactly where Justin gets his dog-with-a-bone drive from and it sure as it hell isn't his father. "Talk to the school about the…"

Jacobs interrupts. Thankfully the advice is good. "You need a lawyer to contact them. Keep the channels legal and me in the shadows. Just in case we need more information from them."

"Okay, that makes sense."

Mel is obviously the first lawyer to come to mind. She's also the first to get crossed off the list. I don't want anyone easily associated to me.

"The lawyer can also deliver the news to Justin in person. Preferably while Mrs. Taylor is at work."

I arch a brow. "Is that really wise?"

"It is if you want him to hear the entire offer."

Andy stands up and moves to the window, hands digging down in his pockets while he keeps his eyes averted, looking anywhere but at me.

"You don't know how she treats him. Forcing rest times, not letting him go out. Hell, he just got rid of the babysitter. He's bristling, more and more each day." Andy sighs and turns around, props himself against the wall. "The boy is close to running. He needs a way out."

Well, fuck. This is just getting better and better.

I jab a button on the phone and start talking. "Cynthia, I need a lawyer."

* * *

  
"What's this?" And this shows just how far I've fallen. I should be reaming this kid over the fucked up ad art and instead I'm asking about a fucking computer. For Justin. Who I still have not spoken to since the night of his prom.

What-the-fuck-ever.

But as I listen to the explanation, play with the stylus and the touch screen I resolve to add the use of this thing into the scholarship with PIFA. This could be the answer to any possible motor control concerns and Justin's ability to keep up in his classes.

I call the lawyer, Katie Saunders, as soon as I'm out of the art department. She takes my call immediately and sounds as thrilled with my find as I am. My timing, she tells me, is perfect. Her meeting with the dean of PIFA has been set for tomorrow morning.

Reluctantly I admit she's not that bad for a breeder.

* * *

  
"His mother showed up at the very end of the meeting." Katie stops talking long enough to take a sip of her wine. "That's why I wanted Andy over there right away."

That doesn't sound too good. "You think she'll…"

"Hurt him? Not directly. More along the lines that she'll push Justin into an outburst." She rearranges the food on her plate, fork pushing the asparagus around instead of eating it. "He really needs group training, Brian. I don't know that he'll be able to handle the amount of people he'll encounter in college."

"Andy mentioned therapy." The amount of information Andy Jacobs can get his hands on is frightening. "Did he stop going?"

"Oh, no. He's still going. Three times a week for his hand, and daily counseling for the PTSD. The counseling is working on the agoraphobia. I just think he needs some practical help along with the counseling." Then she gives me a wry smile. "That's a personal opinion, though. I may be way off the mark."

Somehow I doubt that. Katie managed to not only get the scholarship under my terms — computer-generated assistance included — but she also has Justin's signature on the acceptance papers. No way she accomplished all of that in a single business day without reading situations — and people — correctly.

"And I think you need to arrange a meeting with him."

"Yeah, oka…" Then her words finally sink in. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She ignores my glare and chuckles. "That was definitely a Kodak moment."

Katie can be a class-A bitch.

"I've been researching Justin's type of amnesia."

Not like I haven't. "Yeah, and?"

"Easy, Brian. It's just a thought about some of the research." She pulls her briefcase up from the floor and, snapping the locks, hands me a sheaf of printed pages. "It's not that uncommon for people to remember events, even if they don't remember individual people."

"And you think seeing me will… what?" Not that I'm against seeing Justin. Hell, I've wanted to see him since the night Jennifer Taylor told me he came out of the coma.

"Has he had any contact with you since the attack?"

"None." I shake my head, my hands fidgeting beneath the table. "His mother requested I leave them alone, that all of us — Deb, Mikey, Lindsay, hell, even Gus — not be around Justin again."

"You've all complied with that?"

Even as much as I hate giving shit away, I frown. "Yeah. We thought… Mothers know best, right?"

The words are ridiculous. Especially when I had the Joan Kinney experience as the perfect example of how little mothers know. Which is why Andy has been kept in relative comfort by my checkbook these past couple of months. I was willing to believe that Jennifer Taylor was a better mother than Joan, but sure as hell wasn't willing to trust her.

"I do believe that her heart was in the right place, Brian. She's afraid."

I roll my eyes. After the bashing, we're all afraid.

"And I think she blames herself for what happened."

Okay. That's new. "And I'm pretty sure you're wrong. She made it quite clear who she blamed."

"She encouraged Justin to go to his prom."

I give Katie the same logic Mrs. Taylor used on me. "Where he would have been perfectly safe had I stayed away. If I'd been able to stop Hobbs."

Katie shook her head. "Do you know that? Honestly? Chris Hobbs came prepared, Brian. He didn't go out and buy a bat when you showed up. He already had it with him."

I fight the urge to squirm under her gaze.

"And do we really know what would have happened if you hadn't been there? If it had just been Justin and Daphne in the garage that night?" Her look goes soft around the edges. "He wanted to hurt Justin. He came prepared to do that. No one takes a ball bat to the prom, Brian."

Lawyers. Always arguing their case. "He's a jock, Katie. He keeps sports stuff in his car. He saw an opportunity and took it. Are we surprised with this?"

"He's a football player, but he didn't have a helmet in his car."

That startles a laugh, more of an amused grunt from me. "Point."

She taps the papers. "Read these. I contacted neurosurgeons at Mayo and John Hopkins, along with several psychologists. From the information I could give them, this is more of a dissociative amnesia. He's repressing because of the emotional connection. Justin needs to be exposed to where he was, who he was with during the months prior to the attack."

"Bashing." I hate the word attack. It suggested randomness, a byproduct to another goal. It wasn't random, wasn't a byproduct to anything. It happened because Justin's gay. "He was bashed."

Katie tilts her head to the side and whispers, "The bashing."

"Makes it different, doesn't it?"

"It does." She smiles sadly and focuses her eyes on the table. "But Justin is determined to make it. He jumped on the scholarship offer. Refused to be swayed by his mother. It was rather impressive."

"That's Justin for you."

Katie locks her briefcase and slides her chair back. "Read through that, Brian. He needs to see you, to see where he lived and worked, who his friends were."

"What makes you think I want to see him?"

"Why else go to all this trouble and expense?"

Like I said before, bitch.

* * *

  
Not using Mel was a good choice. The email from Katie, telling me how Jennifer called and accused of her being in cahoots with me proves it. If I'd used Mel, Jennifer would have had Justin packed and gone that night.

I hit reply and type in one line: Is he still taking the offer?

I'll forever deny the relief that swept through me when her response, just as short, confirms that Justin is staying in the Pitts.

* * *

  
"Are you thinking about seeing him?"

Figures Lindsay would jump right into the deep end of it. "Did you actually read any of that?"

She chuckles and I know damn well she isn't buying what I'm trying to sell. "You know I did. It's just… I can't believe how much you've done."

"Done?" I give in and look away from Gus. "Trust me, I haven't done anything." I damn sure didn't protect him that night.

"Don't lie to me, Brian." She waves the folder back and forth. "You've been keeping tabs on him, you're footing the bill for his education, you're setting up ways for all of us to run into him. You care about Justin."

"Never said I didn't." I go back to playing with Gus. He's safe and unassuming. So unlike his mother.

"You never said you did, either."

My mind flashes back to the hospital, back to that night I told Jennifer Taylor those exact words. And was ignored, shoved out despite them.

I toss the bear to the side, kiss my son on his forehead, and push to a stand. I have to get out of here. Now.

"Actually, Linds. I did."

My cell phone is ringing — Lindsay, I'm sure — before I'm at the corner stop sign. Christ.

I'll never hear the end of this now.

* * *

  
It's been five minutes and I still can't force myself out of the jeep. Justin is on campus. Freshman orientation or welcome or some shit. It's the perfect time for me to reintroduce myself.

If I can only get out of the fucking car.

"Suck it up, Kinney. Last check you were a man."

Growling at myself gets me moving out of the car and across the campus. A quick check of my watch, a glance back to the agenda Andy provided, and it takes less than five minutes for me to find the newest class of PIFA artists.

And an additional two seconds to find Justin's shock of blond hair, away from the crowd with his back pushed in tight against the far wall.

Jesus.

The pictures didn't prepare me for how different he is. Yeah, I knew he was thinner. Back to wearing layers of hideous Old Navy blend-into-the-surroundings clothes. But Andy never once managed to catch the fear, the solitude lurking in Justin's eyes.

I slide into the room and find a place across the room from Justin. Unobtrusive. Shadowed. I need somewhere that affords me the ability to watch him. To decide if I'm going to approach him or not.

Seeing him now, realizing just how much being here, around all of these people is costing him, I have to wonder if maybe Jennifer didn't have the right idea in whisking Justin away to start fresh somewhere else.

Then Katie's voice sounds in my head _…needs to be exposed to where he was, who he was with…_ and my resolve strengthens. Jennifer Taylor tried to protect Justin, true. But she went against the advice of the neurologists out there. Look at how well that's working out.

Now it's time to try it their way.

I maneuver my way closer to Justin, keeping a mantra rolling in my head: Don't give away information. Confirm what he asks. Back off if necessary. _Don't_ cause a panic attack.

So many fucking rules.

All I want to do is scoop him up and go to the loft. Fuck him until he damn well remembers who I am. Remembers everything. The way we met, the way we danced. The way he fucking never backed down. Not from me. Not from his father. Not from anyone.

Yeah, I want him to remember me. But more important, I want him to remember himself.

I'm turning into a fucking lesbian. Ain't it grand?

"If you all will follow me…"

I find myself turning away from Justin, walking with the crowd, following behind whoever our fearless leader is as we tour a campus I never wanted to attend. Slowly I let myself fall further back, hoping to find Justin again, see if I can learn more through observation.

The tactic works better than I could have planned. Not only do I find Justin, I fall in step beside him. Coming up-close and personal with this new, timid version of Justin Taylor long before I'm ready to.

What the hell was I thinking?

* * *

  
Surprisingly, or not, it's Justin who breaks the ice. He's always been ballsy that way.

"Um, hi."

I glance over and offer a small quirk of lips. "Hi."

"Are you a student here?"

Well, shit. I hadn't even thought about that. No way I can tell him who I really am. "I'm an ad exec. We host interns for third and fourth year students."

It's the truth. We do host interns. Occasionally. At least I think we do.

Justin nods. "Maybe that's it."

I arch my brow but keep quiet.

"I get the feeling I should know you." He looks over at me again, brow wrinkling slightly. "Guess I've just seen you around campus before. Maybe when I set up my studio space."

It takes every ounce of my professional experience to hold back my smirk. _I get the feeling I should know you…_

Damn right, you should. You will.

Going on instinct, I introduce myself. Leaving off the intimate details, of course. "Brian Kinney with the Ryder Agency."

That teases out a small grin. "Justin Taylor."

"Looking forward to classes, Justin?"

And just like that, the grin is gone. The walls he in throws up instead are almost tangible.

"If I can handle them."

I roll my lips together, stuff my hands deeper into my pockets, fighting against the instant inclination to touch him, to reassure him.

Instead I settle on digging out a business card and passing it to him. "Well, if it gets to be too much, give me a call. We can do coffee or something."

He slips the card into his pocket, and gives me another one of those curious stares. I can almost see him poking at himself, trying to force a thought to the front. He knows me, remembers me.

It's all just outside of his fucking reach.

* * *

  
Email. The little fucker sent me an email. Figures he'd go this route instead of just picking up a phone and calling.

This uneasy feeling, the raw uncertainty, is a new experience for me. It keeps me from double-clicking the email, from reading what Justin has to say for far longer than is warranted.

> Mr. Kinney,

  
Guess that answers the question about remembering me.

> This is most likely going to sound bizarre to you, but I assure that it is nothing but the truth.
> 
> Due to a recent injury, I am suffering small bouts of short-term memory loss.

  
Small bouts, my ass. But at least it shows he's trying to protect himself. Somewhat.

> I cannot shake the feeling that I know you from somewhere.
> 
> I would like to arrange a meeting with you, preferably in an open area, without a large crowd of people. I know that you mentioned the internship, and it is most likely just that. However, I'd like to ask you a few questions, just to double check.
> 
> I can't explain why. This is just something I feel like I have to do.
> 
> If you don't mind meeting up somewhere, just respond…

  
As if I'd say no.

I give my calendar a cursory glance and hit reply. There is very little that can't be shifted to accommodate Justin's request.

* * *

  
I'm back on the PIFA campus. Coffee in my hand as Justin and I walk across the quad, looking for a bench separated from the majority of the students.

"Mr. Kinney…"

"Brian." I'd decided before arriving to own up to knowing Justin. Telling him how well depends on how the conversation goes.

He repeats my name and blushes, a light pink stealing over his cheeks.

We find a bench and sit, Justin once again making sure his back is against a wall. His eyes scan the area. Not once, or even twice. But over and over until, a few minutes later, he looks at me and blurts out, "Do I know you, Brian?"

"Yes." Then it's me scanning the quad with my eyes. Anything to keep from looking at Justin, to letting his see something I can't mask.

I glance to the side, see his blush morph into anger. I'm almost happy to see the fire spark in his eyes. Would be thrilled if it wasn't directed at me.

"Why'd you lie to me?"

There it is. The one thing I knew going in. No way around lying in the beginning, no way around pissing him off.

"There are people who would rather we'd never met the first time." And now I look at him, will him to read between the lines. Trashing Jennifer Taylor isn't beneath me, but pissing Justin off even more would accomplish nothing.

Eventually he mutters, "Mom and Dad."

I simply nod.

"How… how do I know you?"

Confirming we know each is the best I can give him right now. Every report from every doctor says to let him discover facts on his own, that overloading him with information will cause him to have a panic attack. Fuck.

"Justin." Jesus. He's got that kicked puppy look. I wasn't good at ignoring it before, now it's about to crush me. "You have to remember on your own."

He narrows his eyes and glares. Great. So much better than the begging from before. Not.

"And how do I do that when everyone keeps lying to me?"

Good fucking question. I lick my lips and make a decision. "You have a start. You know we know each other, well enough that I came here to reintroduce myself." One day, once he remembers, he'll know just how damning that little fact is. "Time for you to start digging. Talk to Daphne."

Justin's lips quirk up and I know he picked up the intentional slip. "But not my mom?"

I shrug. Once again refusing to take Jennifer down. She's accomplishing that well enough on her own. She just doesn't know it yet.

"Just… when you have a question, or a discovery," I stand up and tilt my coffee towards him, "or if you just want another coffee, call me."

And I walk away. Before I can fuck up and kiss him.

* * *

  
Andy claims a table in the corner while I grab two beers from the bar. Watching him blend into the scene at Woody's, despite his wife and three kids at home, is an experience. It's no wonder the man can gather so much information.

"I don't know what fire you lit under him, but Justin was lugging boxes from the shed into the house all afternoon. He stopped just before his mother got in from work."

I can't stop the smirk. No way in hell would I even try. If he's searching, it means he's acting instead of _re_acting. 'Bout time as far as I'm concerned.

"Anyone with him?"

Andy shakes his head. "Not a single soul."

That's a bit disconcerting. Everything I've read indicted that returning memories have the potential to be harsh. Definitely not something he needs to go through alone.

"Damn."

"I know. Not ideal." Andy tips his beer back, throat working greedily as he drains the bottle. "Katie had me read all that shit from the doctors, too."

Katie's stock goes up again. She covers all the bases.

"Now what?"

Andy pushes the empty bottle between his hands. "I have someone sitting on the house."

"Huh?" That catches me off guard.

"I left one of my guys on the house. He'll call if…"

If Justin flips out. Or Jennifer flips out. Or, fuck forbid, Craig shows up and he flips out. We have reached the proverbial no news, is good news stage.

"If they call you, you call me." Because, yeah, damn Jennifer Taylor and her no contact rule straight to hell. I'll walk right into the middle of it if I have to.

Brian Kinney is back in the game.

* * *

  
When the call comes, it isn't Andy. It's Justin. And it's fucking five o'clock on a Saturday morning. "Kinney."

"I need to see you."

Christ. He sounds like shit.

"Justin?"

"Yeah."

I can hear him swallowing and then his voice comes back clearer, stronger.

"I need to see you, Brian."

My fingers curl tighter around the phone. "You remembered?"

"No. Not really. I have… questions."

Okay. Should have expected that one. "Tell me where you are. I'll leave right…"

"No. I don't need a ride." He sighs. I can picture him rubbing his eyes, pushing a hand into his hair. "I'm with Daph, just out. Riding around."

Heading here if I have anything to say about it. "Ask her if she remembers how to get to the loft."

His voice sounds faint, further away as he talks to Daphne. I use the time to pull on jeans and a tank, the usual for around the house. I'm setting up the coffee pot by the time he gets back to me.

"Fuller and Tremont, right?"

"Yeah." I grab the bottle of Beam, pour a splash into my coffee mug. "Buzz me when you get here and I'll let you both up."

"Thanks, Brian."

"Just get the fuck over here."

And I hang up on him. Right now being polite is completely beyond me.

One swallow of coffee and I start looking through the cabinets. If I know Justin at all, he'll be hungry.

* * *

  
"Daphne." I lean in and kiss her cheek, noticing that sometime since the prom I've lost the ability to make her blush. Damn it. "Where is he?"

She looks behind her, towards the landing on the stairs. "He's coming. He's just moving slow."

"Go on in." My arm comes out, directs her into the loft, as I move to the stairs. No way am I fucking leaving him to make this journey alone. "There's coffee, and water. I'd sniff the juice though."

I make sure my steps are slow, evenly measured. Last thing I want to do is freak him the fuck out now that he's finally here.

"Justin?"

He comes around the corner, arm cradled against his chest, his backpack slung over one shoulder. "Brian?"

"Yeah." I stop on the stairs and wait for him to reach me. "Did you get any sleep?"

He shakes his head. "No. Been talking with Daphne most of the night."

Not surprising. "Anyone else?"

"Well, um, just told Mom that we had things to discuss." He looks over at me, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "After I talked to you."

And Mother Taylor hasn't called me yet? Wonder of wonders.

He looks away, watching the steps carefully. "She didn't seem too excited."

I huff out a short grunt. "I can't imagine she was."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs and then, as we reach the loft door, stops dead in his tracks. "Holy shit."

Hanging back seems the better of choices. I don't know if Justin's reaction is to the loft — because, yeah, the loft does garner that reaction quite often — or if it's because coming face-to-face with the loft, somewhere he spent _a lot_ of time, brings on a feeling or a memory or what-the-hell-ever he gets.

Justin goes inside and straight to the bank of windows. It's obvious that he isn't remembering a fucking thing. I've seen this look on his face before. The artist in him is attracted to the possibility of natural light, the early morning sunrise, looking out over the lights of the city at night.

I follow him in, slide the door shut behind me, and then retrieve my doctored coffee. I turn to Daphne, letting Justin find his feet before we start… talking. "Busy night?"

"Productive," she tells me with a quirky twist of her head. "Good for him, I think."

"And everyone around him?"

She chuckles. "How good are you at ducking projectiles?"

"Fuck." Justin only throws shit when he's in full queen out mode.

"Pretty much." She nods her head towards Justin. "He's been going through some boxes, found some pictures, some other stuff." She looks at me, face set in complete seriousness. "Don't hedge on your answers. He's been ranting about people lying for his own good all night."

"His mother knows we've seen each other?"

"The whole neighborhood knows." Daphne's gaze drifts back to Justin. "He's beyond pissed at her. Was completely pissed at me until I told him about her ultimatum." She shifts again, turning until she's facing me again. "According to him, you're the only one that did what _he_ needed instead of what _you_ wanted."

Only if he knew. Yeah, it's what Justin needed. But I did it because it's what I wanted.

"Don't blow this, Brian. Make damn sure you're up front about everything that happened between you two."

I give her a short, jerky nod. I am so out of my element right now.

"Justin," she calls, moving across the loft. "Do you need me to stay?"

He shakes his head and I feel something uncoil.

"No. He'll let me go if I need to."

And then it tightens right back up again. Go? What the fuck?

She leans in and whispers something that causes Justin to smile.

"Yeah. I'll call you later in the day." Justin wraps his arms around her, hugging her briefly before pushing her to the door. "Go on. I'll be fine."

Somehow I doubt fine is an accurate expectation.

* * *

  
"So." I roll my lips together. It's enough to stop the possible stammer, enough to let me get my thoughts together. "You want something to drink?" Then, as he yawns, I add, "Or a nap?"

A soft laugh and Justin is shaking his head no. "No napping until I get at least a few questions answered. But coffee would be good."

I grab a cup and pour. Sliding it across the counter, I motion him over. "Here's the sugar. I think there's some creamer…"

"Just the sugar is fine."

Watching him doctor his coffee, I settle on a bar stool and wait.

The wait isn't long.

"Everyone seems to think you're pretty much an asshole."

"Been told that before." I shrug, try to let the words roll off.

"Since waking up I've learned to rely on my gut."

Okay. That's a… turn in conversation. I arch a brow and stay quiet. Because I have no idea where the fuck this is going.

"Thing is, nothing in me says to run away from you. Matter of fact, everything in me says that you're safe."

Oh. Wonder if he'll say that once he remembers being bashed. If he ever remembers being bashed.

"It's been a while since I felt safe."

He sets his mug to the side and swings his bag around. Using his left hand, he unzips the familiar bag and pulls out two sketchbooks along with, to my surprise, a picture of us.

"Will you answer my questions?"

Justin slowly flips through the sketchbook. I catch glimpses of Gus and Lindsay, Daph, Deb. Even one really good sketch of Mikey and Emmett. And then there I am. Half-naked and lazing on the bed. Even though the picture is in graphite, a black and white sketch, I can see the haze of the blue lights.

Well fuck. There's a hint to how well we know each other, now isn't it?

"I won't go against the advice of the doctors." I could recite the instructions in my sleep: recreate scenes, set it up for him to remember, but don't give it all away. "If I say no, you'll have to accept it."

He grins at me. "For now."

He turns the book around and taps the page, the picture of me stretched across the bed, jeans unbuttoned, work papers spread around me.

"How long?"

"Months. Eight, almost nine, months."

He picks up the mug with his left hand, wraps his right around the outside and sips his coffee, eyes focused on the drawing.

"What was it?"

Amazingly I not even tempted to sidestep the question.

"More than fucking." I drain my coffee mug, think about having another. Maybe with even more Beam. "I can't put a label on it, Justin. I've avoided putting a label on it for months."

He finally looks away from the bar, looks me directly in the eyes. "Were we dating? Boyfriends?"

"No. Not dating, nothing exclusive." I leave it there. If he wants more, he'll have to ask.

He arches a brow, a look I know he picked up from me. "Living together?"

I get the feeling that he already knows the answer, that he's testing me or them or, hell, even himself. "No, but you spent enough nights here."

"Kind of living together, but not exclusive. More than fucking, but…" He tips his mug up and drains the sugar-laden coffee before saying, "Just what the hell was it, Brian? Because I don't have naked drawings of anyone else. So it was something."

"Christ. What do you want me to say?" I slide off the stool and head straight for the JB. Fuck the coffee chaser. "That you were just a pretty piece of ass? Maybe, in the beginning. The first time I saw you, that's exactly what it was."

I set the bottle down without the benefit of drinking any of it. It's six in the morning, and I am not fucking Jack Kinney.

"You were hot, I was horny."

His gaze is boring into me. Digging beneath whatever fucking barriers I thought I had and hitting me right where it hurts.

"And then?"

"And then you were the twink that wouldn't go away. Everywhere I turned, there you were. I brought you home, fucked you again. And again. And…"

"Again."

I look away from him. Move to the windows and stare out, not seeing a fucking thing. "Yeah."

I hear the water turn on, the sound of Justin rinsing out the coffee mugs and wiping down the counter. It's all so familiar. Fuck.

"I think I'd like that nap now."

Good. Because I think I'm damn well talked out now.

"Take the bed. I'll stay out here."

"Brian."

Slowly I turn and face him.

"Thanks." He looks towards the bedroom and then back at me. "And, if you get tired, I'm sure the bed is big enough for both of us."

It takes less than five minutes before I give into temptation and, grabbing the sketchbooks, go and sit on the bed next to him. Watching him sleep while I turn the pages, seeing the past few months through his eyes.

* * *

  
He jerks twice and sits up, awake and breathing hard, looking around like he's ready to bolt.

"Justin?"

He flinches as I reach for him. Scoots further away from me.

"You were pissed. Really pissed. Jesus." Justin scrubs a hand over his face, looks everywhere but at me. "Told me I had five minutes to pack my shit and get the fuck out."

Of course he'd remember that. The ridiculously large fucking blowout. He can't remember the first time I fucked him. None of the times I've fucked him. But the one time I tossed him aside? _That_ he fucking remembers.

"I did."

He looks at me, eyes wide and confused. "Then what happened? Something had to have changed."

"A lot happened." I stand and leave him there. Go to the kitchen and grab us both bottles of water. "And you need to…"

"Remember it on my own." He takes the water and chugs half. "Tell me why you kicked me out."

"Know how you heard I'm an asshole?"

I see a small flash of amusement in his eyes.

"Well that was a prime example. You forgot the alarm, the loft was broken into. I reacted." I remember the anger that just fucking boiled over when I came home to find the placed trashed. "But, in the end, moving out was for the best."

"Why?"

I'm not having this conversation in the kitchen. If I'm going to do this, going to skirt damn close to ignoring the doctors by giving up information, I'm at least going to be comfortable.

"Come on." I lead us to the couch, dropping down at one end while Justin takes the other. "The circumstances that led to you living here were shitty."

"My dad found out I'm gay and kicked me out."

My head snaps up. "You remember that?"

"The actual argument? Not really. I remember telling him that no matter what he did I'd still be his queer son, but… I asked why they were divorced, why he didn't want to see me." Justin looks away, turns towards the wall. I can see him blinking his eyes, fighting back the tears. "Molly told me what she knows."

"Well, there was a lot more to it than that. And in the end, you landed here."

He looks back to me, emotions under control for the time being. "Just what you always wanted, huh?"

I snort. "I was having a hard enough time with the fact that I was changing everything." The unspoken 'for you' hangs between us. "The break-in just gave me an excuse."

"To do what you wanted?"

He doesn't know how wrong he is.

"To do what I thought I had to."

And that's all I'm willing to give right now.

"You got a change of clothes in that bag of yours?" I'm sure a shower would be nice, despite the fact we won't be in there together. "If not, you can wear something of mine."

* * *

  
"I need to call Daphne."

Handing him the phone, I quirk a brow. "Leaving?"

A blush moves up his neck. "Um, not unless you want me to. Just told her I'd call by two."

"Got nowhere to be 'til Monday." I pointedly look at him. He's wearing a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt, both of them too big. "But you're gonna need more clothes."

He starts dialing. "I'll see if she can bring me some clothes. And some milk."

I bite back a grin. That means he's staying here tonight. We've had a few hits and misses, but nothing as big as him remembering the argument. We need more time.

Besides, I want him in my bed tonight. Even if we are both wearing clothes.

"And Oreos," I add.

He flashes me a smile, broader than the little grins I've coaxed out since his nap.

I wonder what the hell I just did to earn that. Because, fuck, I wouldn't mind doing it again.

* * *

  
"Brian," Justin calls from the couch, an Oreo in his hand. "Did we go to New York?"

Heh. This could be an interesting conversation. Much better potential than that goddamned argument he remembered.

"Sort of. You went, I followed."

And, fuck, isn't that becoming a theme with us. Me chasing behind the little twat.

"Right after you kicked me out?"

I save the proposal I'm working on and roll away from the computer. "Pretty much."

His brow wrinkles and his eyes lose focus. He's tracking the memory, the feeling. It's scary to watch. If he manages to grab it, he'll be happy. If it skitters away, like so many of them do, I'm in for another queen out, Justin Taylor style.

"How the hell did I get to New…" He frowns even more. "I took your credit card. Great, I'm a thief."

We have to stop that line of thought right now. "You felt trapped. I was being a dick. Your father, well, the less said, the better."

"You found me in a hotel." Then his cheeks turn a bright shade of red.

It's not hard to figure out exactly what he's remembering. I just smirk. Even when he looks over at me, glaring and blushing, I smirk. It's necessary. New York was one of the hottest fucks ever.

"Fuck."

My smirk fades away as I chuckle. "It definitely was that."

Justin wiggles on the couch, tries discreetly adjusting what I just know is an extremely hard cock. "Was it…" He blinks, looking away and then, with embarrassment and arousal in his eyes, looks back at me. "Was it always like that?"

I actually stop and think. Looking down, away from him, I admit, "There was always something there. Even the first time."

"Tell me about the first time."

He doesn't give up, got to give him credit for that. "Not until you remember at least some of it."

"Dammit."

Then the look in his eyes changes. Enough to make me wary. He's up to something.

Justin curls his fingers, motions me over to the couch. Slowly I stand and walk towards him. As soon as I sit down next to him, he puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes. He's definitely up to something.

"Kiss me, Brian."

The tension, pure fucking sexual tension that started building the second he mentioned New York, ratchets up. I am so fucking screwed. Because there is no way I'm telling him no.

"Justin," I murmur, leaning in, meeting him halfway.

Fuck.

The kiss mirrors the one from prom night, filled with an overload of emotion. It's fucking unending. Lips brushing then opening, tongues sliding against each other. I want to pull away, to end this nonsense before it goes any deeper.

But I can't. Because even if Justin doesn't remember, I do. I know what happened on that fucking dance floor. The way we moved together, what was there for everyone to see.

Pulling back, I can see it in his eyes. The difference between this and our fuck in New York, is there, staring back at me.

He presses his forehead against my shoulder and whispers, "Wow. That's not what I was expecting."

If only I could say the same.

* * *

  
Monday comes too soon. Too few memories recovered for my liking, but more than what he arrived with Saturday morning. If I didn't have a meeting, we'd still be at the loft. No matter what Justin wants to think.

Daphne meets us outside the office, smiles and waves, and asks if Justin is coming back to the loft tonight.

"No," I reply. And it's not because I didn't try to get him to.

Justin shakes his head. A quiet admonishment for my snappishness, I'm sure.

"I've been gone all weekend. I need go home. And we all know I might not be staying long."

He's saying it as much for me as he does for Daphne. Thing is, I've heard it enough this morning. And I'm willing to bet my next check that Jennifer Taylor is at home, waiting to pounce the minute Justin makes his reappearance.

"Just call me when you're ready," I mutter, pushing the glass door open and going into the building.

I have Andy on the phone before Daphne pulls away.

* * *

  
"How about the next time he comes over, I come by with Gus for a little bit. No more than, say, an hour?"

I want to say no, want to hang up on Lindsay and pretend like she didn't have a good idea. But Justin actually remembered Gus. Nothing specific. Just a softly posed, "How's Gus doing?"

Which, of course, is why Linds is hounding me about coming over the next time Justin's at the loft.

Is nothing ever easy?

"Yeah, okay." It's easier to agree than to listen to her nag. "Don't know when that'll be. He went back to his house this morning."

She goes quiet, only the sound of her breathing coming through the phone. "How long was he with you?"

"Since Saturday morning." I don't even think about it, just answer the question. "He called at about five."

"Tell me you didn't sleep with him, Brian."

I smirk. She should know better than to leave an opening like that. "Loft only has one bed, Linds. Where the hell was I supposed to put him? On the floor?"

"Brian!"

"I didn't fuck him, Mother." I check my watch, the meeting is still ten minutes out. Just enough time to call Andy. "Gotta go, Linds. Call Deb, let her know what's going on."

And with that, I hang up.

* * *

  
My cell vibrates as the meeting ends. One glance at the caller ID and stomach clinches. Andy. Meaning, of course, Justin. "Kinney."

"You might want to call it a day and get your ass over here. Apparently Mom isn't too pleased with Justin's weekend activities."

In the background I can hear Justin. A very pissed off Justin.

"Fuck." I grab my briefcase and head out the door. Keeping Andy on the line, I tell Cynthia, "I'm out for the day. Dire emergencies only."

The voices in the background change, Justin's quieting down as Jennifer's takes over. I can't hear everything, just the occasional word. Like my name.

"What the fuck, Andy?"

"They're on the front stoop. Having a fucking free-for-all. You, my friend, have been likened to everything from a saint to the devil himself."

I can hear a car door shut and suddenly all sounds Taylor disappear.

I growl and, sliding behind the wheel of the jeep, gun the engine to life. "Leaving the office now."

"How long, do you think?"

"Five to ten." As long as I don't run into traffic or cops.

"I'll leave as soon as you pull in."

I drop the phone in my lap, wondering why the hell I let Justin walk into a fucking sneak attack.

* * *

  
They're still on the front steps, arguing in quieter voices when I round the corner. I ease the jeep to a stop, blocking the end of Jennifer's driveway, and kill the engine. They're so caught up in their conversation neither one of them notices my arrival.

And I take advantage of that. Eavesdropping, gaining important information, snooping… call it what you will. I want to know where the hell I stand.

"He contacted you without my permission, Justin."

Justin shakes his head. "Pretty sure he's an adult, Mom. He stopped needing permission a while ago."

Jennifer's eyes narrow. I want to tell Justin to watch out, to get ready for some verbal barb. But my curiosity wins and I stay silent.

"Oh, he's demonstrated his adulthood on numerous occasions. Just look what showing up at the prom accomplished."

Justin blanches, his face losing all color. "Brian isn't the one who swung the bat. That was Chris Hobbes."

Enough is enough. This is too much for him. Has to be. It's too fucking much for me.

"Justin," I call, walking towards the dueling Taylors.

His gaze focuses on me. Heavy, warm, real.

"Hey. Mom and I were…"

I reach his side and bump against his shoulder. "Talking about me when I'm hard at work?"

The twist of his lips tells me he hears the teasing beneath the words.

"Something like that."

He's got two bags at his feet: the backpack and the same damned duffel his mother left with me months ago. I nudge them with my foot.

"Going somewhere?"

Jennifer's hiss — _No. He isn't._ — is overrun by Justin's, "Yeah. Either Daph's or…" and he looks at me.

"Let's go."

Jennifer grabs Justin's arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm," Justin stops and blinks. "I'm going with him."

And then he looks at me, a smile spreading over his face. "I've said that before."

"You have." My lips twitch, in response to either his smile or the fact that Justin is getting better, I don't know. "Remember when?"

I notice that Jennifer is hanging back now. Her mouth in a tight line, her gaze focused on Justin. If anything will make her back off, it'll be the idea that I'm actually helping her son.

Justin closes his eyes and murmurs, "Right after Gus was born. We were in the jeep and Michael…"

I chuckle quietly when he snaps his mouth shut, his cheeks blossoming with color.

"You got it." I look at Jennifer, raising one eyebrow in a silent challenge, daring her to step in. "Now, load up if you're going with me."

She steps back, conceding to me for the moment.

* * *

  
"So, our first time…"

I cut a glance over, keeping the main of my focus on the road. "Yeah?"

He blushes, his eyes holding embarrassment instead of the anticipated arousal. Huh?

"I was an idiot." In a mocking voice, he says, "I like Cheerios better."

Oh. A chuckle escapes because, yeah, he pretty much was. "And I kept bringing you home anyway."

Justin grins a little at that. "I guess you did."

It doesn't take long and we're parking across from the loft. "Do you want to stay here? I mean, if you'd be more comfortable…"

"Depends."

I wait for him to lay out the terms, giving him no hints as to what I want.

"Are you offering because you feel guilty?"

Fuck and Christ. Ask something harder next time, twat.

"I feel guilty, Justin. But," and I grab his wrist, tug until I know he's only paying attention to me, to what I'm saying. "But that's not why I offered."

"You want to help me."

There's no denying that so I just shrug.

He leans forward, angles himself to see my face. "Is _that_ why you offered?"

It's not. Nowhere near why. I was helping long before he remembered me. With a short shake of my head, I turn and face Justin, arching an eyebrow in question. "Coming?"

The grin he gives me is a hundred percent Justin Taylor.

"And staying."

_…end…_


End file.
